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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099615">the start of something</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argella/pseuds/Argella'>Argella</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>American football au, College AU, F/M, and ignore where i am holding it together with tape, and more timid feelings and just meeting, arya is very subdued in this idk i think i was projecting lmao, college football au, gendry is a defensive player fyi i never mention that, in fact there is outright irritation with each other, look at this as a slice of life fic please, not automatic sparks, so it's less arya and gendry in Love like usual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:15:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argella/pseuds/Argella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s broader than she originally thought, now that he’s up next to her like this. His phone is now nowhere to be found, a half-empty cup in his hand instead. He smells clean, like bar soap, above the background scent of beer and the salt of the Ruffles chips she’d been slowly snacking on. He must be on the team too, she thinks. Certainly has the build for it. </p>
<p>or, Gendry is a college football player and Arya hates football or, my contribution to the gendrya bigbang</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark/Gendry Waters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>178</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the start of something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>man do i love college football and college baseball, and man am i rusty writing for gendrya. as a result of those three things, this fic comes off as very modern, very american, and very ooc. </p>
<p>s/o to jess (celestialboyds) for making such a cool graphic for this fic!! an awesome bigbang partner and overall gendrya creator</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s 5 pm and the sun is shining down on Arya, sweat pooling on the back of her neck. The trash cans at the entrance to the stadium gate are overflowing, aluminum hot dog wrappers and sports drink bottles teetering precariously on top and drifting around by the base. Arya feels her lip curl in disgust, the heat only adding to her agitation.</p>
<p>Sweaty bodies brush past where she and Shireen stand, the remnants of the day’s fans spilling out.</p>
<p>A huff escapes her lips, shifting the strands of baby hairs hanging loosely above her eyes.</p>
<p>“We could always just go to the library,” she offers.</p>
<p>Shireen turns to her, mirth in her eyes.</p>
<p>“And have Sansa and Margaery hound you—and by extension, me—for the rest of the Saturdays this year?”</p>
<p>Arya pouts. “Technically, she couldn’t bother us during away games. She has to travel with the team for those. </p>
<p>Shiren laughs. “Come on Arya, let’s just throw her this one bone, and then you’re off the hook the rest of the semester.”</p>
<p>Arya thinks on it for a minute, her mom’s chiding tone coming unbidden, saying something akin to ‘you need to be more supportive of your sister, Arya’ and Sansa’s weirdly enthusiastic prodding about how she needs to come to a football game.</p>
<p>Arya didn’t think either of them could get her to actually go to a game, and they didn’t actually seem to be under those delusions either, but she had agreed to meet up with Sansa afterwards, when the game had ended and she and the rest of the cheer team had cleared off the field.</p>
<p>“I’m actually surprised you haven’t gotten around to going to a game yet,” Shireen’s voice cuts through. “You love sports.”</p>
<p>“Correction, I like <em>good</em> sports.”</p>
<p>Shireen laughs, amusement coming out at Arya’s serious tone. “And what’s wrong with football Arya?” she asks.</p>
<p>Arya knows she’s just teasing her, that she’s heard this diatribe many times before, but Arya can’t resist. </p>
<p>“What’s not wrong with it? Where’s the finesse? The skill? All they do is run around with a ball, pushing each other down to score points.”</p>
<p>“Is that not something that happens in almost all major sports?”</p>
<p>Arya continues, her friend’s words unheard. “Baseball. Now that is a good sport. There’s actual skill involved, from the pitching to base running. Why the students at Riverlands U don’t pay more attention to our team is beyond me. Sure, they’re not historically great, but they made it all the way to the College World Series last year! That’s progress.”</p>
<p>Shireen looks at her knowingly. “Or, maybe you’re living off of your childhood nostalgia and the attachment you formed to baseball because it was something you did with your dad before he passed?” She only pauses for a second before tacking on, “And our school’s baseball team isn’t as good as the football team?” </p>
<p>Arya squints. Ned Stark had passed many years ago, before attending Riverlands University was even a thought in Arya’s head. Still, Shireen attempting to psychoanalyze her like that wasn’t necessary. And it was just wrong. </p>
<p>“Didn’t know you’d switched your major to psych,” she jokes.</p>
<p>Shireen rolls her eyes. Their expressions may seem to belie irritation, but they’ve known each other long enough to know neither is actually bothered. </p>
<p>They’re suddenly saved from the heat by a flash of red hair bounding toward them.</p>
<p>“Arya!” Sansa’s voice calls out, slightly gruff from using it the last three and a half hours on the field. </p>
<p>Arya pastes on a smile. “Sansa. Margaery,” she adds, seeing her sister’s friend just behind her. </p>
<p>Sansa continues striding toward them, coming to a sudden stop just feet in front of Arya. She can smell her sister’s signature scent rise up to her nose, her still-damp hair hanging in soft waves indicating she had showered before meeting them out here. All while Arya and Shireen were sweating like pigs. </p>
<p>Sansa’s nose scrunches up in distaste. “Is that what you’re wearing?” </p>
<p>Arya looks down at her simple outfit of jeans and sneakers. “Yes?” </p>
<p>Sansa looks back at Margaery, a silent conversation shared between them in just seconds before her sister’s blue eyes snap back to Arya and Shireen.  </p>
<p>“Shireen looks cute, why didn’t you borrow something of hers?” </p>
<p>Arya feels her face heat, teeth grinding down in annoyance. And their mom wondered why Arya and Sansa didn’t cross paths often on campus. </p>
<p>“I’m in normal clothes Sansa, how is that not good enough for dinner?”</p>
<p>She hears a soft, “Oh dear,” come from Margaery while Sansa shifts her weight in front of them. </p>
<p>“Sansa.” Her sister’s eyes widen in faux innocence. But Arya isn’t falling for that.</p>
<p>“Sansa, tell me we’re just going to dinner.”</p>
<p>“I can’t tell you we’re not having dinner in some…. capacity,” comes her sister’s roundabout reply. </p>
<p>Margaery scoffs. “If you consider chips and cheap beer dinner.” </p>
<p>Sansa glares in her direction and it suddenly clicks for her. </p>
<p>“Oh, my gods. No. No, no, no, no.” She turns to walk away, not checking if Shireen is following. She’ll catch up. </p>
<p>Before she can get too far, a dainty yet firm hand darts out and latches onto her upper arm. Letting out a huff, she turns back around where she and Sansa meet eyes. </p>
<p>It’s tense between the two, Shireen and Margaery sharing concerned looks as the silence goes on, both sisters ignoring the slowly diminishing sounds of sports fans around them as the very last groups head out to the parking lot surrounding the stadium. </p>
<p>An eyebrow or two is raised, exasperated sighs are released, lips are set into straight lines. </p>
<p>Next thing Arya knows, she’s turning toward Shireen, a grimace on her face. </p>
<p>“Shireen?”</p>
<p>Her friend shrugs, a look of indifference on her face. </p>
<p>“What else have we got to do?”</p>
<p>Sansa squeals with glee. “Excellent! And we still have time to go change.”</p>
<p>Margaery’s face breaks into a soft smile at Sansa’s enthusiasm. Arya hopes her own face directed toward Shireen conveys the suddenly resounding thought of “traitor” well enough. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>“And whose house is it?” Arya is finding it difficult to keep the skepticism out of her voice as they walk up to the shabby place a few blocks from campus. </p>
<p>There are scooters parked haphazardly all over the driveway, a Riverlands Trout flag perched just off of the gutter. The house is a pea green in colors, peeling in places to show the original white paint underneath. </p>
<p>It’s not especially noisy out, not this early in the evening. But it is a Saturday, and only a few hours after a game. She would have thought that the off-campus house of some football players would be a little wilder after a win, but she guesses they must be too tired to party hard after a game. (She’s not a complete denouncer, she’ll admit that it’s a physical game at least.)</p>
<p>A porch light blinks on as the last rays of sun fade, the sound of cicadas coming out as if on cue, signaling the start of another brutally warm September evening. </p>
<p>Arya will admit she’s glad she at least took Sansa’s advice and changed into a tank top. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the humidity of the Riverlands after growing up in Winterfell. She’s especially grateful she hadn’t chosen to go to school somewhere like King’s Landing, with its stifling summer heat, or worse, the hot oppressive weather of Dorne. </p>
<p>“Just a couple of guys on the team.” Sansa leaves it at that and strolls up the driveway, her arm linked with Margaery’s as their heels make punctuated <em>clicking </em>sounds on the pavement. </p>
<p>Shireen and Arya make up the rear, both taking their time up the walk, albeit for different reasons; Shireen, despite her willingness to put herself out there in college, still finds herself being a bit of a social butterfly in new situations; Arya’s reasoning has more to do with the fact that there’s a Storm’s End Stags at Bear Island Bears game on in an hour, and the outcome is going to have serious effects on the postseason. She’d rather be in her dorm, propped up on her bed with some pretzels and her laptop open to whatever laggy baseball stream she could find on the internet. </p>
<p>Sansa opens the door ahead of them, stepping confidently into the house before them. Arya shares one last look with Shireen before following behind her sister and Margaery. </p>
<p>As she walks into the entryway-slash-living room, what she finds is…relatively boring, even by her standards. </p>
<p>The room is poorly lit, but less on purpose and more because one of the fluorescent lights in the open-concept kitchen is out. There’s a standing lamp on in the corner, contributing more to the heat in the room than actual light. The room seems spacious, but the more Arya takes it in, the more she realizes it’s because whoever lives there has been pretty sparse with furnishings. </p>
<p>What they do have seems pretty typical for a bunch of student athletes living on their own. There’s a brown couch centered against the wall, leather clearly peeling off in the spaces visible between the three guys slouched back on it. A recliner is propped open in one corner, also occupied. There’s a coffee table—hard to identify underneath all of the plastic cups, but definitely there—and a large television on the wall immediately to Arya—and the door’s—right. </p>
<p>She hears Sansa speak to someone, vaguely catches her own name in time to give a slight nod to everyone in the room suddenly looking in her direction. </p>
<p>Arya may not have wanted to come here, but now that she knows she’ll need to spend at least an hour or two to keep Sansa and, by extension, her mom, happy, she decides she might as well get comfortable. And that means heading toward the kitchen for drinks. </p>
<p>She strides past her sister, who’s giggling at the sandy-haired guy sitting in the recliner. Arya pauses to look at him a second, noting that he looks familiar but chalking it down to the fact that all student athletes look familiar when the school plasters their faces on all of the promotional material they’re constantly churning out. </p>
<p>She can feel Shireen coming up behind her as they close the short distance to the kitchen. </p>
<p>There’s a couple of other people lingering in there, making it a tight space. Arya manages to squeeze in, making her way up to the back counter where she correctly assumes the alcohol is. </p>
<p>She feels her face drop when she notes the half-melted bucket of ice and the few bottles of previously mentioned cheap beer sitting in it. </p>
<p>“For fucks sake,” she murmurs, “I’m missing the game for this?”</p>
<p>“No,” comes a loud, hearty voice to her left. She looks over and spots a large guy who looks to be about her age, leaning against the counter and munching on chips out of a bag. “Games already over,” comes out between a crunch. “We won.”  A few cheers go up in the kitchen around them. </p>
<p>She no longer feels Shireen’s presence, looks to see that her friend has abandoned her in the Isle of Shitty Beer with the chip eater, and decides she might as well make conversation.</p>
<p>“Not that game. The important one. Stags at Bears.”</p>
<p>The guy lifts a brow, wiping his likely crumby hand off on his sweatpants. “Baseball?”</p>
<p>“Mhmm,” Arya says, looking around to try and spot Shireen. She finally sees her in conversation with a small group in the corner, somehow having managed to get her hands on a plastic cup filled with who knows what while Arya was busy surveying the kitchen. </p>
<p>“I’m sure the other guys will put it on the tv if you want.” He shrugs, tossing the now empty chip bag onto the counter. “All they ever do is watch sports and SportsCenter anyway. Like yeah, okay, we’re athletes, but how about mixing it up a little? I put on Ina Garten one time while there was a hockey game on—hockey, can you believe it? It barely even snows here! Anyway, you’d have thought I’d fumbled the snap on third and one.” </p>
<p>That all sounds like gibberish to Arya, who only manages to pick up on one thing. “Hang on, are you on the football team?” </p>
<p>The boy looks at her, an amused smile on his face. He sticks his hand out toward her, and Arya discreetly checks it over for chip grease before allowing it to envelop her own. He gives it a firm shake. “Hot Pie.”</p>
<p>Arya’s face creases in question, but seeing he isn’t going to elaborate, she figured it’s safe to assume it’s some kind of team nickname that stuck. </p>
<p>“Arya.” </p>
<p>“Sansa’s sister?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“She’s real good at cheering for us,” he says. At her clear lack of interest, he carries on, “Anyway, I’m the Center.” </p>
<p>She bites the inside of her lip, squinting a little. “Should I know what that is?” </p>
<p>He chortles, startling a few of the others in the kitchen with them. </p>
<p>“I’m guessing you don’t watch?” </p>
<p>She shakes her head. “I’m more of a baseball fan.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Hot Pie reaches over toward the now kiddie-pool like bucket, “you might have to wrestle the remote away from Lommy over there to put on the game—Lommy’s our kicker, by the way—but I’m sure you won’t get any other objections to it.” </p>
<p>“Noted.” </p>
<p>She makes a move back toward the living room, sensing their conversation is over as Hot Pie struggles to get the cap off his bottle, and swipes a half-full bag of Ruffles off the bar on her way. </p>
<p>Some of the previous occupants of the couch now litter the floor, a card game being carried out on the empty space to be found on the coffee table. There’s a spot in the middle, next to Sansa, who’s still in conversation with the guy on the recliner, and another guy. The guy on the couch looks up from his phone for a second as Arya maneuvers past his legs and plops down between the two. She catches a flash of blue eyes before the head is bent down again, quickly replaced by the top of a head covered in shaggy black hair, curled around the ears. </p>
<p>She quickly spots the remote on the floor at the edge of the coffee table—figuring Lommy is one of the people now engrossed in the card game going on and won’t put up a fight—and bends down to get it. </p>
<p>She flops back on the couch with a loud smack, a small grin of triumph on her face even as Sansa turns to shoot a glare at her. </p>
<p>Nobody seems to notice as Arya pulls up the guide on the tv, easily finding the game and selecting it. </p>
<p>A few heads turn toward it at the change but quickly go back to whatever they were doing once they notice it’s not much different to what they had on before. </p>
<p>As she becomes engrossed in the game, she can feel eyes on the side of her face. Turning, she sees it’s the guy on her left. </p>
<p>He’s broader than she originally thought, now that he’s up next to her like this. His phone is now nowhere to be found, a half-empty cup in his hand instead. He smells clean, like bar soap, above the background scent of beer and the salt of the Ruffles chips she’d been slowly snacking on. <em>He must be on the team too, </em>she thinks. <em>Certainly has the build for it. </em></p>
<p>She raises a brow in question but he only blinks before staring at the tv, settling further into the couch. She follows suit, the game demanding all of her focus. </p>
<p>Before she knows it she’s muttering alongside the commentators, hisses of irritation escaping her mouth at bad calls and low whistles of surprise when a play goes unexpectedly. The guy next to her seems to be watching too, his reactions nearly mirroring hers, though it seems like he isn’t a fan of either team based on the King’s Landing Knights shirt she’d spied stretched across his broad shoulders when she had snuck a glance over at him. </p>
<p>She feels an elbow digging into her side around the sixth inning, pulls her attention away from the screen to see Sansa looking back at her. </p>
<p>“We’re going to get going, are you and Shireen going to head out too?”</p>
<p>Arya ignores the question, thinking it obvious that she’d leave too, and yawns instead as she stands up and stretches. A satisfying <em>crack </em>emits from her bones and she smirks at Sansa’s shudder. Her sister is standing up next to her soon, saying goodbyes to her friends as Arya makes her way over to where Shireen stands near the door. </p>
<p>“Made some friends did you?” she teases. </p>
<p>Shireen rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like you missed me with that tv there.” </p>
<p>Arya smiles. “I figure if we book it back, I can make it to my dorm by the middle of the 8th inning.”</p>
<p>Sansa and Margaery’s loud arrival by the door nearly covers Shireen’s snort. </p>
<p>The four girls make their way back out of the house, Arya relieved to find there’s a slight breeze in the air. She hadn’t realized how stuffy it had been inside. </p>
<p>“So,” Sansa begins as they all start walking, Sansa and Margaery toward the athletic center’s parking garage for their scooters and Arya and Shireen to the dorms just past it. “What did you guys think about Harry?”</p>
<p>Arya’s brow wrinkles. “Who?”</p>
<p>Sansa lets out a huff. </p>
<p>“Harry Hardyng,” Margaery supplies. “He’s a wide receiver. Rumor has it the Eagles are going to pick him in the first round of the draft this year.”</p>
<p>Now that Arya understands. Well, most of it. </p>
<p>“Oh.” She shrugs. “I’ve never seen him play; I couldn’t say.” </p>
<p>The two older girls laugh, causing Arya to frown in confusion. </p>
<p>“No, Arya. I meant for me. He’s the guy I was talking to tonight.” That frown deepens. </p>
<p>“Are you sure you want to start dating another athlete, Sansa?” She doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding judgmental, really, she doesn’t. But after Sansa’s blowout breakup with Joffrey Baratheon, member of Riverland U’s swim team, she’d thought her sister had planned to be more careful about who she got into a relationship with. Namely, staying away from athlete types with the potential to have big heads. </p>
<p>But clearly Sansa hears judgement because she stops walking, causing the other three girls to stop and turn, looking at her in question. </p>
<p>“I’m not a freshman anymore Arya.”</p>
<p>Arya blinks. “I know that.”</p>
<p>“And it’s not like you were even here for all of the Joffrey stuff. You were still at home.” </p>
<p>“I think I know enough of the details by now” she huffs, agitation easily rising up within her. She can sense Sansa’s growing embarrassment, her eyes flickering to where Margaery and Shireen stand just beside Arya. “I’m just worried is all. But if you like him, then by all means.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Sansa nods, perfunctory, in a manner that says the conversation is over. </p>
<p>Arya lets it end, not prepared for a big fight after the surprisingly mellow night out she’s had. Regardless, Margaery and Shireen walk side by side on the sidewalk ahead of them, leaving the two sisters together. </p>
<p>“Anyway, Harry has been hanging out with Gendry Waters a lot, the guy you were sitting next to—”</p>
<p>“Was that his name?” Arya cuts in. </p>
<p>Sansa sends a coy smile her way. “Why? Were you guys talking?” </p>
<p>“Nope,” she responds, letting the ‘p’ pop. </p>
<p>“Well you could do a lot worse than Gendry Waters.”</p>
<p>Arya snorts. “I’m not sure there’s much worse than a guy on the football team.”</p>
<p>Sansa rolls her eyes, letting them walk in silence the rest of the way to the garage, where the two groups part ways. </p>
<p>When she’s all set up in bed (she had made it back in time for the bottom of the 8th inning, not the middle), lights off and the stream she found only slightly behind the actual game, she gets to wondering if the guy—Gendry—is still watching the game. </p>
<p>She knows what Sansa is doing—planning. And being set up with some burly football player who probably only has half a brain cell left is not something she’s up for. She won’t deny he was pretty cute though. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>To her surprise, Sansa seems to drop it after Arya refuses her offer to get Gendry’s number for her off of Harry Hardyng. She hadn’t even spoken to the guy for gods sake. How would that conversation even go? “Hi, do you remember me? The girl that sat next to you during a baseball game who you never once spoke to? I was stuffing my face with Ruffles, ring any bells? Anyway, we don’t know each other, and I expressed no interest in you but here, have my number because my sister wants you to.” And like she said, she’s not interested. </p>
<p>Still, Sansa is nothing if not persistent, so it comes as a pleasant surprise to not be hounded after about the issue. </p>
<p>What’s not so pleasant, is showing up to her Tuesday Language and Culture class and seeing Gendry Waters seated next to her usual spot. She hesitates a moment, confused, before her face begins to redden, irritation rising as she makes her way toward him. </p>
<p>She doesn’t sit down—won’t give him and Sansa the satisfaction of just giving in—but instead stops beside him and pops her hip out, resting a hand on it as she glares down at the side of his head. </p>
<p>He seems to notice her after a moment, turns to meet her gaze, confusion in his eyes. <em>Nice acting, </em>she thinks. </p>
<p>“Can I help you?” His voice is low, gruff, and Arya shouldn’t be startled but for a moment he’s caught her off guard. </p>
<p>Clearing her throat, “Did Sansa put you up to this?”</p>
<p>He just keeps looking at her, the confusion growing. “Who?”</p>
<p>She blows a puff of air out of her nose. So this is how they’re playing it. </p>
<p>“My sister. Don’t tell me she told you to act completely clueless. She can’t think I’m that naive.”</p>
<p>The confusion on Gendry Waters’ face quickly disappears, a slight shadow crossing over it. “Are you calling me stupid?” </p>
<p>Arya’s about to let out a sardonic laugh but stops herself, notices the irritation on his face that’s starting to seem too real. </p>
<p>“What? No. Didn’t Sansa...I mean, did she tell you to…”</p>
<p>He’s looking at her, waiting for her to go on but the look is becoming increasingly more mocking as she fumbles with her words.</p>
<p>“You know Sansa Stark, right?” </p>
<p>“Not really? I mean, she’s on the cheerleading team, isn’t she?” </p>
<p>“Yes,” Arya lets out slowly. “Are you saying she didn’t tell you to come to this class today?”</p>
<p>“Why would she tell me to go to class?”</p>
<p>Embarrassment is creeping up within her, staining her face an awful shade of red. </p>
<p>“I’ve never seen you in this class before,” is all she lets out as explanation for her behavior. </p>
<p>Gendry shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah well, I’m on the football team.”</p>
<p>Chairs are scraping around them, an indication that class will be starting soon as the room fills up. Still, Arya keeps standing there. </p>
<p>“Is that meant to be an explanation?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, are you the professor? Why am I answering to you exactly?” The bite behind his words bothers Arya more than she’d like to admit. </p>
<p>Movement out of the corner of her eye indicates that the professor is pulling up today’s lesson slides on the board, leaving Arya to make the split-second decision of whether to sit in her usual seat, beside Gendry, or go elsewhere. Seeing that most of the hall has filled up—really, was today the day that the University sent out a memo telling all habitually absent students to get to class? —she reluctantly lowers herself down next to him. </p>
<p>She looks resolutely into her backpack as she pulls out her laptop and textbook. </p>
<p>She knows Gendry’s eyes are still trained on her, but she wills herself not to look up. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, he doesn’t leave that as an option. </p>
<p>“You never answered me,” he grunts out. </p>
<p>She thinks for a second, debating on what she can say to cover up the Sansa fumble. </p>
<p>“Are you new to this class or have you always been in it and you just skip because you’re a football player and think you can do whatever you want?” There. He seems quick to anger, that should bother him enough to move him away from any mentions of Sansa on her part. </p>
<p>His eyebrows raise, a disbelieving look on his face. “You know we have other things to do, right? Practices and meetings. We can’t go to every single class, there’s not enough time in our schedule.”</p>
<p>For some reason that irritates her—his words, the way he says them, the presumption that his time is more important than any other students’. “Oh, so you think other students don’t have just as important things to do? Studying and extracurriculars and jobs?” </p>
<p>He scoffs, taking Arya aback. “You expect me to believe you have a job?”</p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean? I could have a job!” She’s perfectly capable of working thank you very much. </p>
<p>“You? Sansa <em>Stark’s </em>sister?” </p>
<p>She cringes at the emphasis on her last name. Clearly he knows that her family isn’t exactly struggling when it comes to funding their educations.  </p>
<p>“Okay so <em>I </em>don’t have a job. But other students do. And it’s not fair that the school props the football players up and lets you get away with skipping class.”</p>
<p>“You know the same thing happens for other student athletes, right? Not just football players. And we spend hours in a study hall, with tutors…. What’s your problem with us?” </p>
<p>“I—”</p>
<p>“Alright, so last week we left off at the end of chapter five.” Their (because apparently this was a class they shared) professor cuts in, ready to start the lecture for the day. Arya quiets, turning her attention to the front of the room, forcing herself not to stew over all of the reasons she was ready to give Gendry.  </p>
<p>Namely,</p>
<ol>
<li>They’re playing a brutal, unskilled sport that shouldn’t get nearly as much attention as it does </li>
<li>The risk of CTE associated with football should be enough to ban it from colleges </li>
<li>If you aren't already counting the fact that it should be banned based on the fact that it’s sucking up funding from the school’s other, more interesting sports</li>
<li>Football culture. Enough said.</li>
</ol>
<p>And maybe those reasons are dramatic and not entirely in good faith, but they’re the answers she’s ready to give him, dammit. But about an hour into the double block she sees a text pop up on Gendry’s phone (she’s not being nosy, honest, he just left it sitting face-up on the table like that, is she supposed to ignore movement around her that’s designed to purposely catch her attention?) and he’s quickly getting to his feet, grabbing his rather light looking, RU branded backpack and heading toward the door at the back of the hall. </p>
<p>Arya’s eyes follow him, disbelief welling up inside of her. She glances around, sees her classmates and her professors entirely undisturbed from the abrupt exit. The man is well over 6 ft and broad as hell, how is she the only one seeing what just happened?</p>
<p>
  <em>Or maybe you’re overinvested for no reason Arya, and nobody else actually cares that some random football player (he’s probably not even a starter, let’s be honest) is skipping class. Shocker, someone alert the press, a kid on an athletic scholarship is neglecting the school part of the deal. </em>
</p>
<p>She huffs—and <em>that </em>draws the attention of some people around her, for gods’ sakes—and turns back to her laptop, wilting when she notices how sparse her page of notes is this far into the class period. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>
  <em>December</em>
</p>
<p>How she ended up at a frat party on a Thursday night, Arya will never know. She remembers going out for burgers with some classmates after a study session in the library. There’d been lots of groaning about their upcoming final next week and talks of blowing off some steam before exam week and returning home for the holidays. Next thing she knows, they’re walking a few blocks past the McDonald’s they had briefly holed up in and heading toward the outskirts of campus. </p>
<p>Arya wouldn’t call herself an introvert, not in the least. She likes meeting new people and making new friends, and in her last year and a half in college she’s happy to say she’s made plenty, in and outside of her program. But she’s not exactly a partier either. Aside from a few things she’d been dragged to by her suitemates her freshman year, Arya’s stayed solidly away from any wild parties—no “get togethers,” ragers, or house parties for her. </p>
<p>So it takes her a minute for her mind to piece together why they’re headed toward frat row. Even then, she’s still not positive what’s going on until she starts recognizing Greek letters on all of the buildings near her. </p>
<p>She asks around, gets a vague answer about Jordan, a guy in their study group, being in Greek life and how his fraternity was doing something tonight, and “Don’t worry, it’s not a mixer, you guys can totally come.”</p>
<p>Arya wasn’t exactly prepared for the night to go this way—she’s pretty sure half of the people in her group still have backpacks on them from their library meet-up—but she’s already walked all the way out here and her dorm is on the other side of campus, so she had figured she might as well see what all the fuss is about. </p>
<p>Okay, so maybe she can trace how she got there. But how she went from that to four drinks deep and sitting on this stained sofa, with its stuffing poking out of every other cushion, inside a loud, poorly lit room is still a mystery. </p>
<p>She spots some of the people she came with, some clustered near a keg in the kitchen, others spread out talking, and even one playing beer pong with a raucous group of frat guys on the other side of the room. </p>
<p>She’d been in one of those groups earlier but had quietly slipped out not long ago, tired of conversation, and dropped herself down on the couch. </p>
<p>She’s thinking about how long the walk home will be, when the couch dips beside her. She turns to see a guy has occupied the space and is staring at her with a strange intensity. </p>
<p>Before she can say anything, “Arya!” He snaps his fingers, like he’s just solved a puzzle. </p>
<p>Her brow furrows. “Do I know you?”</p>
<p>He points at himself, enthused and clearly a few drinks under. “It’s me, Hot Pie!”</p>
<p>And gods does she not even close to recognize this guy, not after a few drinks and in this lighting at least, but the name spurs her mind into working and it comes to her. “Right! The football player.”</p>
<p>He smiles goofily. “That’s me.” </p>
<p>“Hot Pie!” Someone calls out. “The fuck are you doing bothering this girl for?” The face approaching them is vaguely familiar. </p>
<p>“Fuck off Lommy, this is my friend Arry.”</p>
<p>“Arya,” she corrects, choosing to not correct the ‘friend’ part. </p>
<p>Lommy snorts, taking a seat on the arm rest next to Hot Pie and taking a pull of his drink. </p>
<p>“Gen,” he shouts, waving over to someone in the crowd. </p>
<p>Arya is just thinking about how to extricate herself from the couch, excuses about an early day tomorrow on the tip of her tongue, when the person Lommy was hailing arrives in front of them. </p>
<p>“Shove over Hot Pie.”</p>
<p>Arya’s eyes scan up a large, tall frame only to stop in surprise on Gendry’s face. She’d seen him in passing in class every now and then. They hadn’t sat next to each other again—not that Gendry was there much anyway. Still, it seemed she had forgotten just how striking he was, with his dark hair and blue eyes, his large frame, with those enormous arms that are brushing up against hers because Gendry is making Hot Pie move to the other end of the couch and taking a seat next to her and oh gods, she’s been staring an awfully long time. </p>
<p>Her eyes become more alert as his attention turns to her.</p>
<p>He gives her a small, cheeky smile. “Miss Stark.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Footballer.” She cringes the moment it leaves her lips, but he seems to find it funny, as he lets out a short laugh. </p>
<p>“D’you know Arya, Gendry?” Hot Pie is leaning toward them, his upper body practically sprawled over Gendry’s lap as he tries to get them both in view. </p>
<p>Gendry hefts him up and back over, freeing up his lap. Hot Pie looks unperturbed, his eyes moving between them owlishly. </p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, I do know <em>Arya.” </em></p>
<p>(She tells herself the shiver she gets is from a draft in this old house.)</p>
<p>“Oh yeah Hot Pie, Gendry and I go way back.” Arya nods sagely. </p>
<p>“Huh,” Hot Pie intones. “Back to the night of the Highgarden game then?” </p>
<p>Gendry’s lips tighten. “What do you mean Hot Pie?” </p>
<p>“Y’know, when you were watching that baseball game at the house? I should have figured you’d spoken, after you were asking me about her and all.”</p>
<p>Arya can feel the confusion on her face as she tries to connect the dots between what Hot Pie is saying. Gendry is sitting up straight now, his hands firmly clasped in his lap, cheeks flushed, while Lommy lets out a loud, unattractive laugh. He pats Hot Pie harshly on the back. </p>
<p>“Oh Hot Pie, what a wonderful memory you have. Now if only you could put it to use during play calls.” The slight, angular boy stands up from his perch, still shaking his head with laughter as he walks away and joins another group. </p>
<p>“It’s one of my talents,” Hot Pie calls out, trailing off at the end in confusion. </p>
<p>“You asked about me,” Arya states, words spilling out what her mind is trying to work out. </p>
<p>Gendry snorts, a sullen, “No,” working its way out of him. </p>
<p>“Sure you did!” Hot Pie smiles. </p>
<p>“Hot Pie why don’t you go check on Lem and Anguy? Stop them from whatever stupid hazing bullshit they’reprobably up to.”</p>
<p>Hot Pie nods his head in a move that’s comparable to an enthusiastic puppy. “Sure thing.”</p>
<p>He gets up and leaves, Gendry immediately scooting over on the couch to occupy the space Hot Pie’s just left. </p>
<p>He turns to see Arya squinting at him. </p>
<p>“So you knew who I was that day in class.”</p>
<p>“I mean, it’s not like Hot Pie knew anything other than your name,” he plays off. </p>
<p>“Why were you asking about me?” She goes right for the point. </p>
<p>He squirms a little, hands fidgeting. He reaches over for a drink, something to buy him time, only to seem to realize he didn’t bring one over. </p>
<p>“Just wanted to know who came over to our place just to use us for our sports package,” he teases. </p>
<p>“Hey, that was an important game! The Stags would never have won the World Series if not for the confidence they earned in that series with the Bears.”</p>
<p>“Please, the league was so weak this season, what with the Lions and all of their cheating suspensions.”</p>
<p>“A Lions and a Knights fan? I should have known we’d bump heads,” she jokes. </p>
<p>He looks at her strangely for a moment, but it's gone just as fast, like a trick of the flickering, fluorescent light. </p>
<p>“Not a Lions fan, for your information. I’m just saying, we both know they’ve dominated the league for years now.”</p>
<p>Arya grumbles. “Well you’re not wrong.”</p>
<p>“You’re a Direwolves fan then I take it?”</p>
<p>Arya starts, surprised at his guess. It must show because, “Don't act surprised, everyone knows where your family’s from.”</p>
<p>Arya’s cheeks heat in embarrassment; luckily she does have a drink to occupy her mouth. </p>
<p>Gendry watches her for a moment, eyes alight. “So, baseball’s your game then?”</p>
<p>She shrugs, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand. The beer here was gross, but at least they were well-supplied. </p>
<p>“Among others. Definitely my favorite. I watch hockey too. Basketball sometimes but only professional.”</p>
<p>“And no college football? Not even your own school?”</p>
<p>“Nope. It’s boring.” She flashes him a sharp grin. </p>
<p>He doesn’t seem to rise to the bait though. </p>
<p>“How?” He challenges. </p>
<p>She falters. She’d been prepared to go off that day in class, but after they’d been interrupted she hadn’t had the chance. Well, she wanted to. Here’s her opportunity. </p>
<p>She straightens up, clearing her throat as if it will somehow clear her head. </p>
<p>“You want all the reasons?” </p>
<p>“Will it keep me here all night?”</p>
<p>“Ha ha,” she deadpans. She cocks her head to the side, thinks for a minute. “It’s really not very long. I could probably come up with more if I tried.”</p>
<p>He waves his hands, signaling her to get on with it. </p>
<p>“Well for one there’s no skill involved. You guys are just throwing a ball back and forth and ramming each other down. And yes, I get you have play calls and routes and those weird boards that your team managers jump up and down with that have weird codes on them like ‘Cersei Lannister + hula hoops + peacocks + the number 2.’ And really, what is that shit? Do you guys just memorize a weird amalgamation of pop culture references and common nouns? Those could—”</p>
<p>She stops suddenly, sees the unimpressed look he’s giving her. </p>
<p>After a sheepish, “Sorry,” she continues. </p>
<p>“I just don’t think as much skill goes into it as baseball. Okay, second point—”</p>
<p>“Wait, can I refute?”</p>
<p>She bites her lower lip, head cocked and index finger resting on her chin, pretending to be thinking on it. </p>
<p>“After I finish.” </p>
<p>He rolls his eyes but remains silent. </p>
<p>“Then we have CTE, which so many in the sports world with stakes invested in the industry pretend doesn’t exist but it’s so prevalent in professional football—and likely college as well. I mean, you guys are literally damaging your brains out there, you can’t tell me that doesn’t scare you?”</p>
<p>Gendry just looks at her, waits for her to go on, but Arya’s suddenly realized she’s run out of steam; hit the two major points that she’d been clinging onto whenever anyone tried to convince her to buy football tickets and drag her to a game. </p>
<p>“Okay, now you can refute.”</p>
<p>Gendry lets out a sigh. “Arya, you do know what catcher signals in baseball are right?”</p>
<p>She scoffs. “Of course I do.”</p>
<p>“And how is that any different to our play call signs? Poorly recreated emojis aside.”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes. </p>
<p>“And the coaches in baseball signal whether a base runner should go, don’t they?”</p>
<p>She nods. </p>
<p>“How is that any more sophisticated than the hours of footage we’re made to go over each week? The play calls we memorize. The running routes. Opposition research? So much goes into the sport and you’re just shrugging it off as child’s play.” </p>
<p>She can tell he’s getting passionate now, his voice raising nearly above the din around them. </p>
<p>“As for CTE, I won’t deny that, really I won’t. Does it scare me? Of course it does. Do players try to brush aside head injuries? All the time. I’ll admit, for some players, it’s the love of the game that makes them ignore it. And most of us love it, we really do. But for a lot of us, it’s our way out. Our ticket to a better future.” Arya sees his jaw tense, the debate of whether to continue in his eyes. “College football was my way out of Flea Bottom.”</p>
<p>Arya’s heard of the area before, a well-known neighborhood in King’s Landing. Whatever she doesn’t know about the place she thinks she can fill in by the look on Gendry’s face when he says that. </p>
<p>“Athletics are a means of escape for a lot of kids. Do you think I would have had help getting out of there and into college if I wasn’t skilled at sports? Do you think anyone would have cared about another poor kid from King’s Landing?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t answer, knows that’s not what he’s looking for. </p>
<p>“Anyway, all I’m saying is that for a lot of us, CTE is worth it compared to the alternative of trying to make it the rest of your life there.”</p>
<p>He stops, clearly too uncomfortable to go on. </p>
<p>“I guess…,” she starts. “I guess I’d never thought about it like that. </p>
<p>He shrugs her words off, moves his eyes around the room, not wanting to meet hers. </p>
<p>She’s not sure what possesses her to do it—maybe the alcohol or the emotions of the moment, even the way his eyes are shifting around, his jaw set in both embarrassment and a manner that says, ‘I don’t want your pity’—but her unoccupied hand reaches out, rests on his forearm. </p>
<p>His head snaps back her way, eyes laser-focused on where their skin meets. </p>
<p>“I should have considered that perspective. I’m sorry.” She tries to put as much sincerity into as she can. </p>
<p>He nods once, his formerly steely eyes growing warmer by the second. She can see his posture relaxing as well, finds it in her to joke, “Baseball games are still more fun.” They wear matching smiles of mischief, hers quickly hidden in her cup, his on view for anyone to see. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>
  <em>February</em>
</p>
<p><strong>Gendry: </strong>Superbowl party at our place this weekend. You should come</p>
<p><strong>Arya: </strong>And have to watch hours of football? *thinking face*</p>
<p><strong>Gendry: </strong>Nah, we just gather ‘round for the commercials and snacks</p>
<p><strong>Arya: </strong>Oh, I’ll definitely be there then</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Arya had spent the winter break at home with her family—sans Sansa for about a week as she returned to campus and then to Highgarden for RU’s bowl game. </p>
<p>She and Gendry had exchanged numbers at the party back in December, and their messages—though sparse over break as he prepared for said bowl game—had increased once they returned to campus to the point that it was weird if she went a day without exchanging a few messages with him. They didn’t share any classes together and between their own individual classes (ones Gendry was now attending, since it was technically his brief “off season”) they hadn’t actually seen each other since last semester. </p>
<p>Not that she would admit that she really wanted to see him or anything. </p>
<p>She would admit—hint at, maybe, and only to herself—that the more she texted him the more she finds herself having a soft spot for the guy. (That’s it, just a soft spot.) She can’t even remember the last time she complained about football to Shireen, and really that’s saying a lot considering how much tv coverage there’s been on the upcoming Superbowl. </p>
<p>Up until now most of their conversations had waffled between talking about classes, life experiences, and sending sports memes. </p>
<p>But now Gendry’s taken the next step—in their friendship that is—and Arya finds herself once again heading out toward the off-campus housing just a few blocks over from the stadium. The porch light isn’t on yet—it’s still fairly bright out for a February night—and Arya’s teeth are just beginning to rattle as she raps a rhythm on the front door. </p>
<p>She can hear loud voices from inside, the blaring sound of a tv with the volume up much too high. Luckily she knocked loud enough, and the door is soon opened, a rush of warm air hitting her. </p>
<p>Gendry is grinning down at her, the light she’d once complained about now framing him nicely in the doorway, a soft halo around his outline. </p>
<p>“Hey,” she breathes out, the words nearly visible in front of her mouth as her breath meets the brisk night air. </p>
<p>Gendry lets out his own greeting, still smiling. The moment is quickly broken by a loud belch coming from inside the house. Arya makes a face while Gendry scratches at the back of his neck. </p>
<p>“Come on in,” he says, stepping aside. </p>
<p>“You sure it’s safe?” She jokes, brushing past him. </p>
<p>“Hey!” Hot Pie calls out, clearly having heard her. </p>
<p>Arya settles herself down on the couch, quickly slipping her shoes off and flinging her coat onto the back of the couch. </p>
<p>Gendry stares at her for a second, shaking his head at how quickly she’s made herself comfortable, before settling down himself. </p>
<p>The night goes well (unless you’re a Vipers fan—they blew a handy lead) and Arya truly enjoys herself, laughing with the others to the ads put out by different companies, testing weird concoctions that Hot Pie had cooked up, and attempting (but not really) to understand the rules that Gendry, Lommy, and Hot Pie were oh-so-seriously explaining to her. </p>
<p>She finds herself nodding off on the couch, Lommy long having fallen asleep in the recliner and Hot Pie cleaning up in the kitchen. </p>
<p>She feels a hand gently shake her shoulder. </p>
<p>“Arya.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.”</p>
<p>“Arya, it’s getting late. Do you need a ride home?”</p>
<p>She snorts, eyes still shut. “On what, your scooter?” </p>
<p>“We’ve talked about this, it’s a perfectly respectable—”</p>
<p>She cracks one eye open. “And you admitted you only use it because you got it for free.”</p>
<p>Gendry’s mouth snaps shut. “Do you want a ride or not you menace?”</p>
<p>Arya huffs a laugh, sitting up from where she had slumped over against the cushions. “Nah, I’m okay. The fresh air will wake me up.”</p>
<p>“Are you kidding? It’s so cold out.”</p>
<p>“You forget, I’m from the North. This is like a nice spring for me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah alright then.” He sounds exasperated yet fond. “Text me when you get back?”</p>
<p>She smiles softly. The gentle sound of running water coming from the kitchen as Hot Pie does dishes and the recently lowered tv volume is mere background noise. </p>
<p>She can feel her heart thundering in her chest at the way Gendry’s meeting her gaze and confusion begins to set in. Yeah, the cool air will do her some good. </p>
<p>She waves a quiet goodbye to Hot Pie and Gendry before making her way outside. She stands on the stoop for a moment, breathing in deeply. </p>
<p>A shiver runs through her and Arya thinks Gendry was right, it is cold. She may have gone home for winter break, but it seems the warmer weather of the Riverlands is already acclimating her to the warmth and making her more sensitive to the cold. </p>
<p>When she gets back to her room she sends two messages. </p>
<p>The first one reads like this:</p>
<p><strong>Arya: </strong>Just got to my dorm, thanks for having me over! </p>
<p>The next, sent in a much less calm state:</p>
<p><strong>Arya: </strong>why would u let me start falling for a football player wtf shireen</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Shireen’s “immediate plan of action” consists of this:</p>
<ol>
<li>Go over to Arya’s dorm room the next evening</li>
<li>Order pizza</li>
<li>Lay out the pros and cons of liking Gendry</li>
</ol>
<p>“Shireen I am not putting down ‘compression shorts’ as a pro.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but is that something you’ve actually thought through Arya? Or have you just not seen Gendry in them yet and can’t commit it to the ‘pros’ section?”</p>
<p>Arya tosses a pillow in her direction, narrowly missing in knocking the slice of pizza out of her friend’s hand. </p>
<p>Shireen shrieks, laughter following the sound. </p>
<p>“I don’t think you’re understanding just how bad this is.”</p>
<p>Shireen sighs. “I don’t see what the problem is, Arya. Obviously you like him. I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean ‘obviously’?”</p>
<p>She pauses to bite off another piece of pizza. “Well. It was all very, ‘second grade, pigtail pulling’ obvious,” she says, after swallowing. </p>
<p>“How? Because I insulted him?”</p>
<p>She nods. “Pretty much. Then it was ‘wow, Arya will not stop texting him, huh?’ and you’re a notoriously bad texter so something had to be up, even if you didn’t realize it.”</p>
<p>“So what do I do about it? To get over it I mean?”</p>
<p>“Why would you want to get over it?”</p>
<p>Arya frowns. “Well what else am I going to do?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, maybe ask him out?” Shireen looks at her like she’s being purposely obtuse. </p>
<p>Arya’s quiet for a moment, thinking about it. Shireen lets her be while she finishes off her crust. </p>
<p>It’s not like she’s head over heels for Gendry or anything. She still doesn’t know him <em>that </em>well. Sure, they’ve had some serious conversations, but at the same time they haven’t really hung out. She enjoys talking to him and is definitely attracted to him. And isn’t that what dating is for anyway? Getting to know the person? It’s not like it has to be anything serious. </p>
<p>“Okay. Maybe I will then. Just to get to know him as…more than friends.” </p>
<p>Shireen squeals, her hands clapping. “Arya Stark, pursuing a guy. I never thought I’d see the day.”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Arya says, without any heat. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Arya doesn’t know if Gendry’s busy right now; she’d only texted him earlier to get a vague idea on what he might be up to before she left her dorm to head over to his place. She thinks he’ll be home—hopes, at least—and is sort of wishing she’d asked for some sort of confirmation before beginning to make the trek over there. She really needs to look into getting a bike. </p>
<p>She feels jittery, her nerves all alight as she thinks about what she’s going to say to him. </p>
<p>She could have done this over text, but every draft had felt awkward, either too professional sounding or too relaxed, like it didn’t mean much. After so many attempts she figured she would pop over, maybe casually slip in something she wanted to do, but be sure to frame her suggestion he tag along to sound clearly like she was asking him on a date. </p>
<p>The weather has warmed considerably since the other week when she’d walked home after the Superbowl. They’re on the cusp of spring, and Arya can feel it improving her mood. The Riverlands come alive in the springtime, flowers bursting into bloom, animals coming out of hiding, bringing their newborns along with them to greet the world. She’d be able to study outside in the Plaza, more outdoor events would be going on downtown. </p>
<p><em>Maybe we can go to one of those, </em>she muses. </p>
<p>She’s about a block away from Gendry’s, just passing a commuter parking lot, when she sees a recognizable figure running in her direction. </p>
<p>Gendry is striding easily on the sidewalk, swathed in athletic clothes, earbuds in. He nearly runs right past her before she manages to stick a hand up in a wave. He comes to an abrupt stop, his sneakers making an uncomfortable scraping noise on the sidewalk that she winces at. </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, voice controlled despite the sweat running in rivulets down his forehead. </p>
<p>“Hey, I was just coming to see you.”</p>
<p>He looks taken aback. “Oh really? Good thing I set out for my run early, I was just doing a final lap around the block.” He smiles at her then, a toothy grin. “What’s up?”</p>
<p>“It’s almost spring,” she blurts out, rather than the (nearly) rehearsed words she’d been working on on the walk over. </p>
<p>He looks around, as if taking in the weather, seeing her words for himself. “Yeah, still a little chilly, but you can see it’s coming.” They’re both nodding, Gendry looking at her expectantly, an amused smile on his face as he waits to see if that’s all she has to say. </p>
<p>“Umm,” she fumbles, “there’s a lot of spring activities that will be coming up, with the better weather. You know, concerts in the park and outdoor classes. Those stargazing groups done down by the planetarium.”</p>
<p>Gendry’s nodding, seems to consider her words. “Division play for the baseball team.”</p>
<p>Arya starts, surprised at Gendry’s contribution. “Yeah, it does start in March actually. How did you know?” </p>
<p>Gendry looks away, cheeks turning slightly rosier than they’d been when he’d first stopped. “Figured I’d ask you to go to the first game with me.” He shrugs, turning back to her but still not meeting her eye. </p>
<p>Arya feels her throat close up, palms sweaty from adrenaline as if she’d been the one running. “Like—”</p>
<p>“A date,” he cuts in, quick to get it out there between them. </p>
<p>There are cars passing on the street beside them, even the occasional pedestrian or two walking past, all contributing to the noise around them, yet silence falls between the two. </p>
<p>Gendry’s the first to break it. “I uh, wanted to ask you on a date. To the game against Highgarden. It’s the second week of March.” She sees him swallow hard, already recognizing the nervous fidgeting motion his hands begin to twist. </p>
<p>A smile breaks out on her face. “Yeah. Yes, I’d love to.”</p>
<p>His smile mirrors hers. “Really?” </p>
<p>She nods. “I was actually on my way over to ask you out.”</p>
<p>He laughs, his ears turning a similar shade of red to that of his face. He mutters something to himself, something that sounds awfully similar to “Hot Pie.” </p>
<p>When she questions it, he just says, “I actually get to throw the opening pitch at that game. To mark the start of division play and all that.”</p>
<p>She sends him a wry smile. “Is it just because you’re on the football team?”</p>
<p>He shrugs, limbs loose, manner so different from the first time she’d accused him of such a thing. “Might be.”</p>
<p>Weeks later, after their first date, Arya will laugh off her nerves with Shireen, mention how they split a snow cone and Gendry’s lips still tasted like the sticky-sweet syrup when he kissed her goodnight. Gendry will go home, the spring practice schedule far from his mind as he thinks of the way he felt with Arya’s eyes on him while he threw out the first pitch. </p>
<p>But for now, they stand on the sidewalk, their laughter adding to the sounds around them. They part ways, the entrance of spring on both of their minds. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if u have any questions about (american) college sports feel free to ask, i love them. but first and foremost i ask that you go to google images and put in "college football play calling signs" if you don't know what i meant by that. i have tried to decipher those things at many a game and have not once succeeded. </p>
<p>on tumblr @ softeddiek because im still simping for It</p></blockquote></div></div>
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